Day 220: I didn't make this up. I promise. Today is National Sneak Zucchini onto your Neighbor's Porch Day. Try making an acronym out of that!
I've been strolling down Memory Lane this week, and sneaking foodstuffs onto neighbors' porches has a place on my Memory Lane. Mom often did not feel well enough to run errands, so when I'd learned to safely cross the street, she sent me off into the world to do her good works. Okay, it was just across the street to Minnie Lee's house, but I was little, so the responsibility felt immense.
Mom and Minnie Lee had a thing. Minnie was a good forty years older than Mom, but they were friends. Kindred spirits. Minnie wore housecoats on a daily basis. I only ever saw her in something different at church, when she donned her church-goin' dress. Her housecoats were light cotton smocks in tiny floral prints with white pearl snaps all the way down the front. That's what she was wearing every time I went to her kitchen door and knocked on the screen door. Maybe I remember, because when you're little, you notice the fronts of people, and their shoes, while you have to crane your neck to look up at their faces.
When I would go to Minnie's, she always invited me inside and asked me to "wait just a small minute." I can still remember her old-fashioned washing machine with the wringers at the top. I was so intrigued by it, she showed me how it worked. I thought of a lot of things I'd like to send through the wringers - my PlayDoh, my Silly Putty, maybe a peanut butter sandwich, but wet clothing didn't seem fun at all. Her washing machine offered a good understanding of the phrase "put through the wringer."
Minnie and Mom took turns sharing the bounty. Mom would send me over with a basket of tomatoes, and I would return with the basket full of rhubarb. I would run across the street with zucchini and return with a jar of homemade jam. I spent more than a bit of time running back and forth across East Milo Road for these women.
When I turned 14, I was old enough to drive. (Hey, it was a farming community. I don't think child labor laws existed then. Don't judge.) My mother's health had further deteriorated, and I ran a lot of errands for her. Honestly, most of them were sneaking zucchini, or cheddar cheese, or sacks of potatoes, onto people's porches.
And you know what? I'd get home from running Mom's errands, and there would be something on our porch, too. These good country women knew how to share the bounty. And as my mom and dad grew older, their little farming community never stopped. As long as they lived, neighbors were knocking on their door and sneaking deliciousness onto their porch. Thank you, neighbors. You know who you are.
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